


Objects in the Mirror

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [16]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Sex, Cock Rings, Comedy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would do anything for love, but he won't do that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objects in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> for Capaldissexy, who prompted: Clara using a cock ring with the Doctor, and he's not too happy about it

The Doctor considers himself to be a generous man, endlessly giving and open-minded about the gifts he chooses to bestow. Just last week he saved a whole planet from a runaway artificial intelligence, for free and without being asked. And that was a planet filled with painfully boring bureaucratic idiots, he hadn’t even _liked_ them. Not that he needs to be liked in order to do what he does, just as an example of how selfless he is.

And if he is willing to put his lives on the line for a planet populated by people he doesn’t even care about enough to dislike, the list of things he will do for Clara is almost terrifying in scope. Because he - doesn’t not care about her.

Only she wants so many unusual things. So many particular and specific things, as well - not just the familiar nudity request, and genital-based activities, but ‘can I touch your penis with this precise pair of gloves’ and 'I’ve mail-ordered a custom hand-blown glass dildo in my old school colors, may I put it in your anus while listening to 20th-century Earth ambient electronic music?’ (She uses much more flowery language than that, but he’s found it’s best to be straight-forward. Call a spade a spade and all that. He might also be making up the part about the school colors. Still, the point stands.) Mostly it’s fine. Mostly he enjoys the results of her inexplicable desires.

This? This is not fine.

 

 

He keeps reaching her voicemail. What on Earth could she be doing that she can’t pick up the phone? He leaves several messages, then resorts to texting. First with vague explanations, and then vague threats, and then just her name, all-caps, over and over.

Finally, she calls him back. He would jump for joy, if he were the jumping-for-joy sort (he is not).

“Thirty missed calls in five minutes is a bit much, even for you.”

“I need this thing off.” The thing is another bit of Clara’s novelty erotic hardware, this time locked securely around his penis.

“So take it off.”

“You took the key with you.” His voice is not getting high-pitched from panic, just casually changing timbre, as you do.

“Shit. _Shit._ I’m so sorry. Can you sonic it open?”

“I’m not - do you really think that’s a good idea? Work it through in your head, consider all the possibilities.”

“I’ll be right there, I promise, I’m less than a minute away. Hold on, okay?”

She hangs up. He holds on. There’s really not much else he can do.

 

 

He’s not entirely sure what makes this Not Okay, only because he’d rather not waste the mental energy on such a trivial question. Is genital claustrophobia a thing? If so, then this is that. The more he becomes aware of the fact that he isn’t especially enjoying having an apparently permanent erection, the more he is aware of the metal contraption causing said erection, the more aware he is that he can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t like being unable to fix problems.

He stares down at his genitals, trying to find something scientifically interesting to help pass the time. He’s attempting to angle a small mirror _just so_ when Clara bursts through the TARDIS door.

“Sorrysorrysorrysorry,” she babbles, as she fumbles through her purse for the key. “Sorry.”

“Yes, well,” he says.

And then everything is fine. He orgasms absentmindedly into a stray teacup, then tucks his penis neatly back into his trousers.

She sits down on the floor beside him and leans against his side, arm placed gently around his back. “Not a fan of the cock ring, then?”

“Not a fan of you not being here,” he mumbles.

“Care to share that with the rest of the class?”

“I’m not,” he says, clearly enunciating every syllable. “A fan of you not being here. When I’m in a situation.”

“I’ll remember that,” she says softly. She looks up at him, with those massive compound eyes. “Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Do you want anything?”

“I’ve got a list somewhere, if you’d like to see.”

“I’ll take that as a 'no’, then.” She smiles, the particular smile he has classified as 'whoops I have made a crucial error but believe that it is/will be forgiven’. She squeezes his upper arm reassuringly, and nudges him to stand up.

They are standing up now. What was wrong with the floor? Always changing positions, humans, can’t ever commit.

“You wanna clean out your cup o’ jizz and go watch a movie or something?”

He considers. Yes, a movie. “Only if it’s one of those, what do you call.” He snaps his fingers.

“Rom-coms?”

“Only if it’s a 'rom-com’,” air-quotes. “And I can work on the broken communications module while we do. And. You make me a sandwich?”

“Don’t push your luck, mister.” She grins at him - that’s the fond one, the 'you’re an idiot but it’s okay’ one.

They go to watch the “rom-com". And hey, who knows, maybe they’ll try that medieval torture device again. He is a very giving man, after all.


End file.
